


good times

by prettyluke (buttonjimin)



Series: the lack long after [2]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Heavy Angst, Lung disease, M/M, again i have no experience w terminal illness so pls don't crucify me for inaccuracies, discussion of impending death, sad shit again, set in their mid-twenties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7096504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttonjimin/pseuds/prettyluke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The clock is ticking down, and Ashton is just holding onto what's left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	good times

**Author's Note:**

> so this is the next installment!! part two is here :)  
> this chapter is set almost exclusively in luke's last year of life, specifically within about a one week period (so a very limited window into their relationship). but there is a teensy flashback to when they were 11 or something!!!  
> again, if you enjoy emotional screaming, you'll like the album that these beautiful lyrics come from, which is called "the lack long after" (the name of this series, you'll notice) by the pianos become the teeth.  
> enjoy!

_**You’re laying here with a bed’s eye view of a body that no longer belongs to you.** _

The buzzer sounds loudly, lighting up Cavity Sam’s red light bulb nose. Luke makes a sound of frustration and hands the tweezers to Ashton. “This isn’t fair,” he complains, shifting irritably against the raised upper segment of the bed. “I’m practically lying down.”

“Sucks for you,” Ashton says with a shrug and tries to remove the broken heart. “You’re a sore loser.”

“My hands shake,” Luke says, sulking. It’s true, Ashton sees it and tries not to; Luke’s hardly eating and extended lack of oxygen makes him dizzy. The hospital stocks a limited selection of board games, so they make do, even though some of the parts are missing.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks seriously, depositing the broken heart in the bottom half of the game’s box and setting the tweezers down. The sun is going down outside, and he can tell Luke’s starting to fade a bit, worn out by another cold and purposeless day here. All the testing is really too much these days.

“Yeah.” Luke’s eyes swim out of focus, gazing somewhere upwards. Ashton silently begins to pack the game up as Luke lowers his bed flat. “Do you mind shutting the blinds? Sorry.”

Ashton hates when he apologizes; he does it all the time. Ashton will never mind doing anything for him, and has minded it less and less over the years. Once he would have been happy to please a pretty blond boy; now he just wants to preserve what’s left.

After the death scare a few months ago, Ashton prayed and prayed and prayed, even though he hadn’t gone to church with his mother for God knows how many years, irreverent pun intended. When Liz had called him to tell him that Luke had miraculously pulled through despite his collapsed lung and various other complications, Ashton had been selfishly grateful, but with that gratitude came the next phase of life, an uncertain period of more pain.

There are good nights and bad nights, but they’re mostly bad nights, and Ashton wishes they hadn’t pulled Luke back just to grant him this half-life. One thing is certain amongst all the question marks, and that’s the fact that Luke is going to live his final time in this hospital.

Ashton has moved, for the time being, back home, and quit his job. With Luke like this, he can’t bear to be than a ten minute’s drive away. Most of his days are spent in the hospital room with Luke, fighting for time with his parents and brothers. He always wants to stay the night, but they only let one adult stay in the room per night. They all get a different day. Luke’s mother gets Monday and Tuesday, Luke’s father gets Wednesday, Jack gets Thursday, Ben gets Friday, and at Luke’s request, Ashton gets the whole weekend. Ashton can deal with two nights. He makes it work.

“You tired?” Ashton asks, already knowing the answer. Luke’s too wired up tonight for him to get on the bed without disturbing something. He sits as close to the bed as possible, in the only chair in the room. It’s not comfortable, but he’ll take what he can get.

“Exhausted,” Luke says, licking his dry lips. Ashton should grab him some Chapstick from the gift store. Hopefully the IV they hooked him up to will hydrate him by the morning. If he would only drink his damn water, he wouldn’t need it, probably.

Ashton is frustrated often by his lack of motivation to eat and drink. But Luke makes such piteous faces, his eyes welling up whenever Ashton gets upset, that Ashton drops it more often than not. He lets Luke’s mother be the bad guy so he doesn’t have to.

“Any pain?” he asks, because he has to. He doesn’t really want to know. Luke just hums and shakes his head sleepily. “You sure? Or are you saying that so I won’t worry?”

“Honest,” Luke says, offering his pinky for a pinky promise. Ashton takes it with a fond smile. “Just feel kind of weak. Wobbly.”

“Eat your dinner, then.” It sits untouched on the tray table. Luke pulls a face.

“I don’t want to.”

Ashton touches his small wrist, taking in how much weight he’s lost these past months. “You have to,” he says softly, reaching over to grab one of the containers. “Here, eat the applesauce.”

Luke pushes his hand away, giving him a look. “I don’t want to.”

“I’m telling you you have to.”

They stare off for a bit, Luke’s stubbornness sparking to life. Eventually, Luke gives in and takes the applesauce cup and the plastic spoon. His hands shake as he strains to pull the foil lid off the cup. Ashton looks away, trying not to let it affect him. He hears a small exhalation as the foil finally rips off, and he looks back up while Luke forlornly dips the spoon into the apple mush. He’s never liked applesauce much himself unless his mum made it for him. He has to start thinking of ways to get Luke to eat.  

“Okay, done,” Luke pronounces, handing it back to Ashton. It’s only half eaten, but Ashton just puts it back on the table. “Can I sleep now, Mum?”

Ashton rolls his eyes. Luke wriggles down the bed until he’s lying on his back, and Ashton pulls the thin covers up over him. “You comfortable?”

“Yeah.” Luke takes a long, obnoxious breath. “See? They sucked me dry this morning.”

“Hot,” Ashton says, grimacing. He’s been here once to see it and never again. They stick a tube up his nose and down into his lungs and then pour saline into his lungs and suck it back out to clean out the mucus buildup. Ashton can’t imagine it’s very comfortable. Nevertheless, despite a sore throat, his sedated state, and even a little blood, Luke swears it makes him feel better. “You sure you’re comfortable? Not too cold?”

“I’m fine,” Luke says, touching Ashton’s hand and smiling. “Let’s get some sleep.”

Ashton reaches for the oxygen mask and helps Luke fit it over his face. Luke settles back and shuts his eyes, and Ashton can pinpoint when he drops into sleep, because his whole body relaxes. He’s so tense during the day, hovering in a constant state of breathlessness.

It’s only getting worse. Everything is getting worse, and last week the doctor pulled Ashton aside to give him the _everything is downhill from here_ speech. To prepare him for the big, unspoken end.

Ashton’s never seen anyone die before. His mother’s parents died when he was younger, but they weren’t around much, and he neither saw the decline nor the ending. On some level he was aware, as a teenager, that Luke’s life probably would not last as long as his own. But even as much as he’d researched, most people with COPD developed the disease much later than Luke did, and then the speed of the disease depends on how well you take care of it. And he supposes they did all they could with what they had and it still was not enough.

Ashton looks at Luke’s sleeping body. He looks too small to be in his twenties. It feels a lot like he missed out on everything, even growing into his own body. He’s never going to hit that milestone, never going to look like he belongs to his own bones. He will always seem disproportionate and fragile.

There was a time when Luke seemed to fit right into himself. He’s always been on the small size, much smaller than other boys their age, but at 11, the first time Ashton saw him, he was just a little gangly, like a baby deer who hasn’t learned to walk. The first time Ashton went to his house, they’d known each other for a few months, and Luke was so eager for him to meet his family and see his house. It was a neighborhood barbecue, and Ashton recognized some of the neighborhood kids and their parents.

It was a lifetime ago, and he lost that Luke in the past.

 

* * *

 

**_I miss those summers, that grill smell, home cooked meals, take me back._ **

The sun brings out the soft freckles across Luke’s cheeks. Ashton’s almost never seen him in the sun, only in the shade of the classroom. Now that it’s summer, they’re hanging out for the first time at Luke’s house. It’s a neighborhood barbecue sort of thing, and people are bringing over food to supplement the hamburgers Luke’s dad is grilling in the backyard.

Luke is more excitable than Ashton has ever seen him. He has a nervous energy around him as he pulls Ashton through the house to the backyard. “Dad!” he says, running up to him. “Look, this is Ashton from school.”

Luke’s dad turns around and smiles, reaching out his hand to shake Ashton’s. He has that smoker’s smell, Ashton notices immediately. But Luke looks up at his father like he hung the moon, so Ashton just smiles and shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“You too, Ash.” He glances back at Luke. “Hey, you two grab some burgers before your brothers get out here. You need some fattening up.” He circles his fingers around Luke’s thin upper arm easily. Luke squirms, blushing.

“Sure, Dad.” Luke grabs a plate and lets his dad put a hamburger on a bun and give it to him. “Thanks.”

“Grab your friend one too. I’m glad to see you making friends.” He ruffles Luke’s hair.

Luke grumbles, “ _Dad_. I’m not five.” He looks pleased, though, to be on the end of his father’s attention. Ashton doesn’t know what it’s like to compete for that with two older brothers. He doesn’t know what it’s like to compete for that at all.

They eat their hamburgers on the grass while people start showing up. Luke’s brothers emerge from the house to grab a hamburger each and then disappear back into the house, teenagers with plenty of better things to do. Luke talks and talks and talks, more than Ashton for once, because he’s relaxed in his comfort zone, and Ashton doesn’t mind a bit. Luke’s dog hops up onto Luke’s lap and his eyes absolutely soften as he talks to her, scratching behind her ears and feeding her the bit of hamburger he couldn’t finish. Looks like his dad’s attempts to put some meat on his bones are futile.

They spend the latter half of the afternoon running around, chasing each other in the fading sunlight. The adults all stand around and talk to each other, but they weave in and out, dashing across the yard. Luke’s parents reprimand him for running, tell him to make sure he uses his inhaler if he needs to; they don’t stop them, perhaps understanding the joy of summer and their urge to be on their feet. Ashton is filled with adrenaline and light, his eyes always on the bright boy ahead of him. Luke is radiant in the sun, his skin turning to marble and his hair shining like pure gold. As the sun slowly drops behind the horizon, Ashton has to strain harder and harder to find Luke.

But suddenly, Luke drops. His foot has caught on a crack in the bricks and he’s toppling, hitting the bricks with a smack. Ashton’s heart just stops as Luke picks himself up slowly, sitting hunched over his knee with a pained expression on his face. The skin there is dirtied and abraded, and pinpricks of blood are rising quickly to the surface.

“Are you okay?” he asks breathlessly, dropping to his knees beside Luke. Luke’s mother is making her way toward them with a stern expression on her face.

Luke smiles falteringly, in pain but not willing to say so. His mother stands over them with arms crossed. “Luke, you’re not supposed to be running.”

“I know,” he replies, frowning. “I know.”

She catches sight of the blood starting to well up and softens. “I’ll go get you a big bandaid and some antibiotics. Stay here with Ashton and don’t you move until I get back.”

Luke does his best to stay calm, but Ashton can tell his eyes are a bit too big and his hands are wobbly. Ashton doesn’t know what to say to him in that moment. They’re still sort of in that weird stage of friendship where he isn’t sure where the lines are. But Luke looks at him with watery blue eyes and he knows he has to say something.

“It’s okay,” Ashton says lamely. A drop of blood runs over the side of Luke’s knee onto the bricks, staining the ground. His eyes fixate momentarily on the tiny red splatter. “Wow. Uh. You really scraped yourself up.”

“Yeah. Guess I did.”

Ashton feels the blood rush from his head. “Wow. That’s a lot of blood.”

Luke looks at him closely for the first time, bright blue eyes peeking out from under his fringe. “Are you okay?” he asks, forgetting momentarily about his own injury. “You look pale.”

“Me! You’re the one pale as a vampire,” Ashton says, laughing. He scrubs a hand across his face. “Yeah, I just don’t like seeing blood.”

Luke face changes immediately into an expression of sympathy, having completely forgotten about his own pain. Just then, his mum comes back out with some first aid supplies. Ashton tears his eyes away from Luke’s knee.

“All right, stick your leg out,” she says, tapping the side of Luke’s leg. “After this, I want you to go back inside. No more running around. Hear me?”

“Mum,” Luke protests, as she swabs his knee with alcohol. “Ah, stop. That hurts.”

“It has to be cleaned. Who knows what got in?”

Ashton has some respect for Luke’s mother’s no nonsense parenting, but from the few times he’s met her, he has to wonder why she insists on treating Luke like he’s five. Luke continues to squirm around and make faces while she cleans his knee and then tapes gauze over it.

“I don’t want to go inside, Mum. It’s nice out here.” Luke lets out a particularly disgruntled _ow_ when she finally secures the tape. “Mum! I said I don’t want to go inside!”

“Listen here,” she says, forehead creasing. “I know you were having fun. But I don’t want you out here getting hurt. It’s dark and I can’t keep an eye on you. I want you sitting down inside, no more running around. I’ll make it up to you later.”

“I can still run. My knee feels okay.”

“No, you can’t. Get back inside.”

“It’s not fair!”

“You heard me,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Go. Now.”

Luke sighs and picks himself up. Ashton follows suit. “Let’s go inside,” Luke grouches, stomping up the steps and wincing. “Sorry I ruined things.”

“It’s okay.” Ashton follows him through the house; Luke limps upstairs and flops down on his bed. He keeps his knee propped up at an awkward angle. Ashton can see some of the gauze is stained red, so he looks away. “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” Luke says, downtrodden. He pulls at the gauze’s edge absentmindedly. “This sucks. I ruined everything.”

“It’s okay,” Ashton says again, touching his arm. “Do you want to change into pajamas now? Since we’re going to be inside anyway.”

Luke nods. “Can you pass me my pajamas? They’re in the top drawer of my dresser. Sorry.”

Ashton slides off the bed and goes to his dresser. He opens the top drawer as told and peers at the several pairs of pajamas. “Which pair?”

“Just the blue t-shirt and basketball shorts,” Luke tells him. He’s already shimmying out of his clothes when Ashton tosses him the PJs. “Thanks.”

They both get into their sleep clothes and then sit on the bed together and play around with Luke’s gameboy. Ashton is worse than he thought he’d be; he doesn’t have a gameboy, and he’s never played before, but Luke is an expert at navigating the levels. He tries to teach Ashton, but in the end they just lie in the bed and talk. As the noise from the party outside dies down and the moon starts to shine through the blind slats, Luke quiets down and starts to yawn. It’s not even midnight, but he’s already squirming onto his side and trying to conceal his drooping lids.

“I think we should go to bed soon,” Luke suggests hopefully. “‘M tired.”

“So soon?” Ashton says wistfully, knowing the next mornings of sleepovers are never as good as the night. Nothing measures up to the late night giggling and whispering. “Just a little longer, come on. Make it to midnight.”

Luke groans and furrows deeper under the blankets. “I don’t think I’ll last that long.”

“Please,” Ashton begs.

Luke sighs. “Okay. I’ll try.” He blinks at Ashton, eyes blue as the sky. He looks different at night; Ashton’s never seen him curled up in bed before, and somehow the proximity calms him. “I’m glad you came today.”

“I am too. I had fun.”

“Even though I fell,” Luke adds regretfully. He shifts under the covers and smiles nevertheless.

“Yeah.” Ashton thinks back to the incident. “Why are your parents so overprotective?”

Luke yawns and rolls onto his back. He thinks about it for a moment. “I’m the baby of the family,” he says finally. “They’ve always treated me that way.”

“But you’re twelve now.”

“I know.” Luke nods to himself, self-assured. “I’ve always been very small and quiet. So I guess that’s why.”

Ashton can’t exactly deny that; when he met Luke, Luke had seemed so mousy and different. He warms up over time, but he knows why Luke’s parents haven’t let go of that protective, parental instinct. “You can obviously fend for yourself now.”

Luke hums casually. “I was in the hospital over Christmas break. Mum won’t let me out of her sight.”

Ashton sits up on his elbow. “What do you mean? Why?”

“Because of my asthma,” Luke says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll tell you later. I’m about to crash, honest.”

Luke doesn’t tell him for four years, but that’s beside the point.

Luke drifts off fast, snuffling quietly in a way Ashton finds endearing for some reason. He sleeps with his mouth open and his eyes softly shut. He’s pleasantly unattractive in his sleep, but then, most people don’t look their best passed out, and Ashton likes seeing him so at ease. Such a small body, he thinks.

**_Sleeping like a log, healing so fast._ **

Luke’s knee won’t hurt as much in a few days, and they can spend all summer running and running until Luke has to stop. No overprotective mothers to stop them, no worries, no fears. Just the two of them. Everything is so easily fixed and he just doesn’t know yet how lucky he is.

 

* * *

 

**_Just be fixed by a quick dip back in some old neighbor’s swimming pool._ **

Abruptly, his memory shifts. His memory seems to twist until he’s kneeling at the edge of his neighbor’s pool. Luke sits at the dry bottom, rubbing his eyes and looking around helplessly. When Ashton looks over the edge, he draws back in fright, realizing the disproportionate depth. Fifteen feet, maybe even twenty deep.

“Luke,” he calls, reaching over the edge. “Come on. I’ll help you get out.”

Luke rushes to the side and reaches up, jumping up and down in an attempt to reach Ashton’s hand, but they’re too far apart, and Ashton knows Luke won’t get out. Panic rises in him, and Luke looks up at him with frightened eyes.

“I can’t get you out,” Ashton says, and starts to cry. It pours from his eyes like water from a faucet, running in rivulets into the pool. Luke looks at the water pooling around his feet and opens his mouth in a scream as it rises higher and higher.

“Stop!” he yells desperately, looking at Ashton. “Please.”

“I can’t,” Ashton repeats, putting his fingers up to his eyes in an attempt to stem the flow of tears. Luke’s up to his ankles, up to his knees, and still the water rises faster and faster. The water is blue, and Luke goes under, and he can’t swim to the top. The water flows over the sides and Ashton watches helplessly as Luke’s lips turn bluer than his open eyes, bluer than the pool tile. Ashton can’t stop crying, wailing for help, and then everything disappears.

His eyes snap open in the dim hospital room. It’s sometime in the early hours of the morning, the sun just beginning to rise. Luke’s cold hand has closed around his own. “Ash,” Luke whispers, oxygen mask pulled into one hand. “It’s okay. It was just a dream.”

Ashton blinks rapidly and realizes hot tears are pouring down his cheeks. He lifts his head from Luke’s blankets and Luke rushes to wipe his tears with a tissue. “I know. I know.”

“You’re okay,” Luke whispers. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Ashton shakes his head no. He doesn’t want to burden Luke with his guilt and fears, not when Luke has so much on his shoulders already. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“I don’t mind. Come up on the bed.”

“The wires,” Ashton says, shaking his head. He doesn’t want to get in the way, and the bed is so small as it is. But Luke tugs on his hand firmly, his will as strong as ever. “Are you sure?”

“Come on.”

Hesitantly, Ashton climbs onto the bed and works his way precariously under wires to get to Luke’s side. He slips under the covers and faces Luke, cramped up in the tight bed. He feels better, being next to Luke and knowing he’s alive and real. “It was just a bad dream,” he whispers.

Luke strokes a hand through his hair, kissing his forehead as if their roles have been reversed and Ashton is the one who needs taking care of. Remembering himself, Ashton says, “Put your mask back on.” Luke does, and settles down. Ashton is so used to the sound of the mask, so it’s white noise to him. He’s afraid to drop back into sleep in case the nightmare comes back.

“Goodnight,” Luke says, or at least that’s what it sounds like. Ashton takes him in his arms and holds him close, but tonight he isn’t sure whether he’s cradling his love or clinging to him for dear life.

\---

Ashton goes home after that weekend feeling, as always, like a truck has hit him. He hates leaving and not being able to spend the night again until the next weekend, but he visits every day now, or tries to. But it always feels like letting go.

**_I see less of who I love the most, time’s getting away._ **

He lets himself quietly into the house Monday morning. He sets his overnight bag down by the door and goes to the kitchen to make himself breakfast. His mother sits at her desk already, finishing something for work on her computer. Startled, but not entirely surprised, he says, “I’m home.”

She swivels around and stands up, coming forward to hug and kiss him. He feels a little comforted by her touch. “Good to see you, hon. You had breakfast yet?”

“Nah, I don’t like the hospital food,” he says absently. Neither does Luke, but Luke can’t just come home and choose anything else. “I’ll grab a bagel from the freezer.”

She watches him carefully as he grabs the bag of bagels and twists off the clip. He sticks a frozen bagel in the microwave and sets it for thirty seconds just to thaw the bagel out. While he waits, his mother asks cautiously, “How’s Luke?”

Ashton winces and looks down. He hopes she doesn’t see the million things he’s worried about. “Not the best.”

“Yeah?”

Ashton nods, picks at the hem of his t-shirt. “He’s not really eating. He’s losing weight, and that’ll probably make things quicker, because one cold will be all it takes.”

“Why isn’t he eating?”

“He hates the food. He’s so stubborn.” Ashton shakes his head. “Anyway.”

She looks at him knowingly; of course she knows, of course. She always knows him better than he knows himself. the microwave beeps, and he reaches to pull the bagel out and pop it in the toaster oven for a minute or so. “You know, when you wouldn’t eat as a kid, I’d try to find ways to make it fun. Sometimes I promised I’d push bedtime fifteen minutes back, even though you couldn’t tell time, or I’d aeroplane it into your mouth.”

“Luke’s a little old for that,” Ashton reminds her. He stares morosely at the bagel in the toaster. “I don’t know what to do. I’m worried.”

“Are you allowed to bring him outside food?”

“No, they don’t want much coming from outside.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” she says reassuringly, patting his shoulder. “It’ll be all right.”

Ashton knows nothing is going to be all right. After the scare in December, he hasn’t felt the same. There’s desperation all locked up in his chest, fear that stems from being able to do nothing to help Luke except make him more comfortable while time passes. But the waiting is killing them all.

“I know,” he lies.

His mother watches as he spreads cream cheese on the bagel. Her eyes don’t leave the bagel as she says gently, “Have you thought about talking to someone about everything?”

Ashton snorts immediately, feeling her pity press in and hating that she knows how fragile he is. But how could she miss it? His best friend, his lover, almost died, and even though he was saved, he’s still walking down the same path. Ashton can’t pull him back. He can’t do anything.

“Like, a shrink?” he says, choosing the most insensitive word he can think of to convey his derision for her question. “No thanks.”

“A therapist,” his mother corrects. “Or a counselor. I think it would be good for you. Terminal illness can be hard on the people it touches.”

Ashton turns to her with a forced, exasperated smile. He knows his mother wants the best for him, might even be right, but he doesn’t want to talk about his feelings at all. He has to keep them inside, or else he might completely unravel. The only thing holding him together is his own strength, and if he lets go of the strings, it’ll all start to come apart.

“Mum,” he says, softly, “I’m dealing fine. I’m prepared for it. I don’t need to talk to anyone about it.”

“But you love him very much,” his mother argues, folding her arms. She looks so sorrowful it hurts a bit; he hasn’t let her in for a while, and he’s been going this alone. “Nothing really prepares us for losing who we love the most. When your father—”

“But this is not about Dad,” Ashton says sharply, cutting her off. “This is about Luke. Dad was your husband. Luke and I will never get married. Dad left because he chose alcohol over us. Luke is leaving because his body says it’s time. So I’m going to be okay. Just let me keep taking care of him. That’s all I want.”

**_And I don’t want to heal, I’m just the perfect amount to look how I feel._ **

His mother nods sadly to herself and falls silent as he grabs his plate and goes down the hall to his room, shutting his door behind him. He abandons the bagel on his desk and goes straight to bed, face down. His body is shutting down, but if he and Luke are tied together, he’ll suffer right alongside Luke.

\---

Ashton goes back the next weekend to repeat the cycle.

Luke is already asleep by the time he gets back to the hospital on Saturday evening. It’s early, but he can see Luke’s fingertips are bluish, and the oxygen mask over his nose and mouth is spewing air as fast as the machine can provide it. And Luke just can’t keep up with the demands his body is making.

Ashton curls up next to him on the bed and wraps his arms around the boy next to him. Never mind that they’re in their mid-twenties; Ashton would hold him the same if they were eighty years old. Luke will always be this small. Luke will die this small. So Ashton holds him as close as he can because he doesn’t know how many more days he’ll be able to do so. He took such small privileges for granted when he was a teenager, but he’s learned to value the little things, like the sound of the oxygen mask and the way Luke’s hair sticks up in the mornings and the way he curls into Ashton in his sleep.

Ashton presses his lips to Luke’s forehead and leaves them there, and a few tears drip down his cheeks into Luke’s hair. These days there’s no precedent for tears; the only predictable thing about his grief is that it comes back. It comes without reason, without warning.

**_Now I’m just worn out, and I’ll ache like this forever I think._ **

“Everything’s okay,” he says to himself, shaking his head angrily and rubbing away the tears. His palm comes away cold and wet. “I’m handling this. I’m an adult.”

Ashton just can’t bear to look at Luke when he’s in pain. Even sleeping, the creases in his forehead and the exhaustion in his face never quite goes away. Ashton can’t stand all the pain. He slides under the blankets with Luke and tries to hold him even closer, close the few inches left between them. He needs to warm Luke up, needs to warm himself.

It seems like since December, the winter never left.

**_These shoddy drapes refuse to keep the cold out_ **

Ashton has prayed almost every night since then, and as the sun sets and he loses sight of everything, he finds himself in the same position.

“Just let me take care of him a little longer,” he whispers, shutting his eyes. “I won’t ask for anything as long as I live. Just give me more time.”

**_and this damn body can’t keep the warmth in._ **

**Author's Note:**

> tell me what you think!! leave a comment or you can reach me on tumblr at the url @ clingyluke. i'm still working on restarting since i accidentally deleted so if you don't mind reblogging the link page or refollowing if you used to that would be helpful but obviously it's fine if you don't. thanks for reading and let me know if you have any comments


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